


Mission Report

by OhhMyy



Series: Coming Back To Life. [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Mild Language, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8617222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhhMyy/pseuds/OhhMyy
Summary: Bucky never sleeps on December 16th, not since he moved to the tower.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mentiones of past character death; Howard and Maria, visits to a graveyard, mentions of nightmares, PTSD.
> 
> Feedback appreciated, pretty please.
> 
> I promise happier chapters are coming!

On December 16th Bucky awakes in a cold sweat. His heart pounds and his fists wrap themselves tightly in the sheets he’s tangled messily around his body. His eyes spring open as he lifts himself up on his elbows, chest heaving before lifting one hand to run over his face.

It’s not like he often sleeps nightmare free, pictures of innocent lives ending (and the not so innocent ones) flashing beneath his eyelids most nights but on December 16th he always has the same one, thinks it might be some HYDRA leftover that the dreams seem to happen in chronological order. This year like the last (both since he moved in) he awakes with a sense of dread he associates with Tony, Howard and Maria.

He heaves himself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to splash freezing cold water on his face before deciding to seek assurance from Steve.

He pads down the hallway, notes Charlie’s empty room and din of silence that creates a gentle buzzing inside his head, up the stairs to the second floor apartments, tugging at sleeves that are slightly damp, clammy after being pressed to his skin. He swipes a hand through his hair, slightly greasy, and pushes it out of his face.

His mind is fuzzy and there’s a dull ache at the back of his head.

He bobs on his feet for a second, knowing that Steve will never turn him away but unsure about burdening his friend with his issues. Decision made he taps on the door, relieved when it opens with the light pressure his knuckles cause. Steve is standing with his arm outstretched towards the door, looking as if he was about to open it; he offers Bucky a brief smile before noticing the drawn look shadowing his face.

“Are you okay Buck?” Steve raises an eyebrow, eyes brimming with sympathy. He has been holed up in his room for most of the day, avoiding the rest of the tower out of respect and fear of confrontation. He guesses from the silence that’s been ringing in his ears all afternoon that the other residents are taking the same precaution.

“Not really Steve”

Steve nods towards the couch and heads to the kitchen, grabbing two mugs down from a shelf and filling them with instant coffee. He pours scalding water into the two cups and turns back to Bucky coffee in hand, watching as the former assassin lower himself onto the seat with a groan.

“Do you want to talk?” The blonde asks, handing over one of the mugs and taking a seat beside his friend.

“Same old, Steve” He answers, running a hand over his face again.

“Nightmares?”

“Always” Bucky answers with resignation. Talking has never made them go away, rarely makes dealing with them easier but he knows Steve values it, knows if there were anyone to tell it would be him. Steve knows, either through reading or Bucky directly, a lot of what happened whilst he was the Winter Soldier but he has never judged him by those actions.

“The nightmares about them are worse since I moved in” Steve knows he means Starks parents, understands but can’t offer any solutions, he still has nightmares to varying degrees; hasn’t found a way, in the years since his ‘defrosting’ to combat them but the ones involving the group are worse when they’re in your consciousness all day.

Steve uses one hand to clasp his friend on the shoulder, the other bringing his mug up to his lips to take a swig of the hot beverage.

“Where’s Charlie?” Bucky asks, changing the subject, and Steve has to resist the urge to smirk. He’s not stupid, he knows how they feel about each other but today is more than that; Steve knows that Charlie has an uncanny ability to be able to say the right thing; that she makes Bucky feel better. He wonders how much of that comes from being friends with Stark and how much is innate. Steve is a leader, he can theorise and philosophise and make strategies but he’s not as good with the advice as he thinks he should be given his history.

“She’s out with Tony”

“Oh” He watches Bucky’s face fall slightly before he schools his features into a relaxed mask.

Steve shoots his best friend a sympathetic look, slight frown tugging at the side of his mouth. It’s amazing to him sometimes, since the serum, that Bucky looks small. He looked up to him both figuratively and literally and though his admiration, total dedication, to his friend hasn’t ceased it still hits him that Bucky is human. He is not the immovable statue of a man Steve had always thought he was.

He is not stupid, even back in the past he had seen Bucky emotional, the day Mom died he watched the older boy shed tears; but they were brief and followed by an offer to drink the problems away. Bucky has solved Steve’s problems for as long as he can remember. He stands taller, literally, than his friend now but it’s not height that makes the difference; Bucky sits with his head in his hands, hunched in the middle and Steve has to resist the urge he often gets with members of this household to bundle them up somewhere safe, out of harm’s way and away from the world.

“You love her don’t you?”

Bucky startles and takes a moment to answer but he doesn’t lie.

“I like her…a lot”

“Maybe you should ask her on a date?”

“You’re kidding Steve? She’s with Tony”

“I don’t think she is” He raises an eyebrow but he’ll admit he doesn’t know for sure; there’s still a lot about the modern world he doesn’t understand and people were definitely not as touchy feely in the 40’s.

“I don’t want to talk about it”

“Okay” Steve sips from his mug again before resting it on the coffee table, he glances at his best friend, sees his face has gone expressionless. “Do you want to stay and watch TV for a bit?” He offers, knowing Bucky like the back of his hand, he might not want to talk but he sure as hell doesn’t want to be alone.

Bucky nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own.

“Thanks, Punk”

 

 

-

She grabs hold of Tony’s hand tightly, wrapping her fingers around his big rugged palm, as they enter Green-wood cemetery, stepping under the gothic archway and onto the white tinged grass. The ground squelches under their feet as the frost melts.  The air is crisp and she can see her breath dancing on the canvas sky in front of her.

She runs her thumb slowly over his knuckles as they plod along the grass towards his parents grave and she idly wishes she’d worn tights to keep her legs warm; Tony has already offered her a jacket three times and she’s torn between being appreciative and knowing he’s no small talk left to make, breaking up the silence with valiant offers and mumblings about needing to get back to the lab.

She drops his hand, standing back and watching in sadness as he kneels down beside the headstone, one hand resting on the cold marble where his parents’ names are carved.

“Hi Mom” He can feel the melting frost seeping into his expensive slacks but he won’t let go until he’s good and ready. He does this every year; greets his mother, talks to her (mumbles about how pointless talking to her is but doesn’t stop despite that), sits with her in silence and then bids his father farewell just before he leaves. He still, after all this time, cannot bring himself to speak to Howard like he wants to; doubts he will ever leave this cemetery without a hollow ache inside of his chest.

Charlie folds her hands in front of her, flowers clasped between the twined fingers, respectful and silent, as she watches him talk to Maria. She has no intention to interrupt this moment until she is invited into the fold. She knew his parents only briefly, feels like she knows them more through Tony than the passing times she met them, but she loves them more than she can explain for giving the billionaire to her; nobody knew what would happen when Tony was sent to her parent’s farm and she’s not ashamed to admit she was dreading his arrival, didn’t want him to interrupt the balance she had found wrapped securely in her parents love and attention. She had never thought her parents would find a son or that she would find her best friend in the troubled rich kid from New York.

By the time she can no longer hear Tony’s muffled voice her legs have started to go numb, the flowers aren’t keeping her hands warm and the ‘windswept and interesting’ look has transformed into somewhat more ‘ruffled and bedraggled’. He doesn’t stand but glances back at her with a raised brow until she steps towards him, leaning down to place the bouquet of Alstromeria against the headstone.

“Hey Mama Stark” She whispers and she straightens up, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder with a faint squeeze. “He won’t tell you but he’s doing really good, saving a lot of people, saving the world actually” She’s addressing Maria but she speaks purposefully loud so that Tony can hear her. “He’s still a bit of an ass though”.

He turns to smirk at her, silent thanks for the lighter air she’s offering him.

“She’s lying Mom, I’m delightful” He likes this; the attention having been taken away from his emotions but having Maria involved in a conversation she can’t contribute to. As often as he has moaned in the past, when they have done this, about how silly it is to talk to the dead, she has never made him feel as though it is anything other than normal.

“A delightful ass”

“Had to send me to the farm Mom, couldn’t have sent me somewhere with nicer people, like army camp” She flicks his shoulder playfully as he heaves himself from the ground; leaning down and pressing a kiss to the cold marble stone before patting it lovingly “Thanks Mom, I love you. Bye Dad”

Charlie leans down, repeating his action, her lips tingling at the temperature change. Tony wraps an arm around her waist as she straightens up, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. They stand in companionable silence for a few minutes until he feels Charlie start to shiver; pulling her just a little closer as they make their way out.

“Thank you for coming with me”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go without me lately” She offers, having never failed to at least send flowers except the past two years, she’s unsure if she’ll ever forgive herself for that act of surrender to Andrew.

“Not your fault, Kid”

-

 

He hears voices in the hallway outside his bedroom door, slightly raised and tense. He halts where he’s been pacing and listens but he can’t make out words. The voices go quiet and the brief silence is followed by a tapping at his door, three knocks followed by a quick two that tell him it’s Charlie.

He walks heavily to the door, turning the handle and opening. She stands outside, hands wringing nervously in the fabric of her black dress as she arches her bare toes into the carpet of the hallway. She slides her eyes upwards, nodding in his direction to ask if she can come in. He stands to the side and swipes his arm to the side in silent invitation.

Tony stands, leaning on the wall the opposite side of the hallway, arms folded over his chest; he looks tired. His face is scowling but he doesn’t raise his eyes from the floor as Bucky glances to him. He’s not sure if acknowledging the billionaire will achieve anything but Tony’s eyes plant themselves firmly at the floor so Bucky closes the door behind him.

“How are you doing?” Charlie asks, taking a perch on the edge of his bed, bringing her feet up to rest on the frame, her loose black dress flows around her legs, cascading over the edge of the bed behind her knees.

“I’m alright Doll” He answers swiftly; quick enough to tell her it’s a lie. He turns to walk towards the kitchen area, wants to offer her a drink, play a good host but his body seizes half way there, head drooping as he suddenly struggles for air. His body freezes, hands in fists by his side as he tries once more to silence his heavy breathing.

She doesn’t respond, the room quiet apart from his laboured breath and ticking clock, but he feels her arms come around his torso, pulling him close as she puts her chest against his back. Her slim fingers wind their way against his stomach, flattening out against his ribcage as she hugs him tightly. His body calms instantly as his eyes slam shut, revelling in the warmth of her as much as the simple human comfort.

He moves his flesh hand up to grip hers, not trusting his metal arm on today of all days to keep her safe. He squeezes her fingers with his and feels press her forehead against his shoulder blades.

“Bucky?”

“Not so alright, Charlie” The use of her real name makes her hold him tighter

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No” His response is fast, firm. There is no room for argument or cajoling.

“Okay” She drops her left arm from his torso, reaching down to find cold metal digits. She wraps her fingers around his, palm sliding over his knuckles and doesn’t allow him to pull the hand away when he tries, holding tighter instead and closing her fingers to keep him with her.

They stand there without moving for at least fifteen minutes before there is a gentle tap at the door. Charlie sighs and lifts her forehead from his back. She squeezes his fingers again before dropping his steel hand back down to his side and stepping away from him. Upon opening the door she finds the space in front empty, but she knows the knock belongs to Tony. Glancing down the hallway she spots him outside of her bedroom, standing like a little boy lost in front of her door.

Bucky turns towards her as she spins back to face him, notes the look or torn contemplation on her face. It’s only now that he takes a good look at her, having missed the attire and heavy look in her eyes when she entered his room. He knows without a doubt that she has been to the graveyard, knows this should be a day she spends with Tony but a sharp pain in his chest stabs until he feels hollow at the loss of her body wrapped around his.

“Its okay” He prompts, watching her bite into her lip. She glances out of the door filled with guilt and back to him again.

“I…I’m sorry”

He walks over to her slowly, wrapping his arms around her body, a body that seems much smaller than usual. He rests his chin on top of her head and speaks quietly.

“It’s okay, Charlie” Half of him is reassuring her that it’s fine to leave but he’s sure somewhere in there is a silent acknowledgement that he believes she is with Tony, that he is fine with just friendship. It’s a lie but he considers that he’d tell a thousand of them just to make the look of heartbreak disappear from her face.

She knows he means it but she can’t help feeling like this feels like choosing, picking a side in an impossible war. This day will never be easy, most days aren’t easy in this home, with these people but this is the first time she has been with them all on this anniversary. Tony, Bucky and Steve get along for the most part now, despite the banter and the digs, but Tony will never be able to look at Rogers or Barnes on December 16th with anything other than hurt.

She turns away from him and exits the door; he follows behind a short distance out of courtesy and watches in agony as Charlie laces her fingers with Starks, pulling him towards the bedroom gently. Tony turns his head towards Bucky, raises a small, sad smile and releases a sigh before disappearing into Charlie’s room. Bucky’s eyes shutter close as the door clicks shut.

 

-

 

She drops Tony’s hand and watches him drop himself down at the end of her bed, leaning down to remove his shoes; he looks old. She has never seen him as anything other than the teenager who became her best friend but she’s looking at a weary face, laughter lines and the toll of the day combined with age straining his face. His movements are slow and sullen and she has to hold back tears. She treads quickly over to him, sitting behind him and swinging her legs around so that he sits in between them without having to move. Her long legs dangling off the end of the bed as she cradles him between her thighs, bare calves against the smooth, though slightly damp, slacks.

She presses her face against the silk of his waistcoat, cheek resting on his back; pushes the thought of Bucky out of her mind, knows that Tony needs her and this day is not about her. The material is soft against her face and she can feel his lungs heaving in air, it's comforting, reassuring in a way she assumes her presence, like this, is for Tony.

“You love him don’t you?” Tony asks, elbows on his knees. The question startles her, though she knew it would come eventually.

“I like him...a lot”

“He killed my Mom”

She shuts her eyes, tears collecting in the corners and brings her arm up to his shoulder, resting it there as she drags a hand through the side of his hair. There is such a finality in his words, a pain she knows will never be healed and it punches her in the gut, sickening clenching of stomach muscles as she holds back the will to sob

“I know”

He moves his head to the side to place a brief kiss to the skin on her forearm.

“I know it wasn’t him…I know he...” He shucks in a heavy breath and she feels his shoulders quiver, moves her arms down to wrap around his stomach in a hug “Christ, I know but I” He doesn’t get the rest of his sentence out, shoulders losing a fighting battle as the tears cascade from his eyes. She presses her face fully into his back, wishing there was a way to take the pain away.

“Shh, I know Tony, it’s okay”

She doesn’t move until his tears are finished; whispers reassurances repeatedly into his waistcoat. He hates crying and he is even less fond of crying with an audience. She leans back and grabs a tissue from the bedside table, handing it to him before leaving him to head into the bathroom.

She strips the black dress off, throwing it lazily in the hamper before brushing her teeth, padding from the room and grabbing a nightshirt; pulling it over her head as Tony removes his trousers. He flicks the main light off in sync with her flipping the lamp switch, they have done this so many times it’s like a dance, perfectly choreographed.

He climbs into ‘his’ side of the bed, turning to face her as she occupies the other half. His eyes flick inquisitively over her face trying to gauge her mood; she is tired, like he is of today. He knows tomorrow when they wake things will return to normal in the household, he will bicker with Rogers and dig at Barnes and watch in amusement as Thor breaks an appliance but it will hurt, will always hurt somewhere inside him; a dull ache that never truly vanishes.

“He likes you too you know” He smirks at her, watching as she narrows her eyes before rolling them.

“Of course he doesn’t” He hears the underlying disbelief, has known her long enough to still be baffled by her lack of self-worth but he also hears hope, a faint glimmer that she hasn’t imagined the affection between them.

 “You’re kidding right?”

“Enough about this now” She dismisses, but it’s done with fondness. She places a hand briefly against his cheek, runs her thumb against the still damp skin under his eye before lying flat on her back; reaching across the empty middle section of the bed to link her pinkie finger with his as he mirrors her position.

“I wouldn’t hate it you know…if you were with him”

She chuckles, letting out a breath she feels like she’s been holding for the past six months.

“Shut up, Iron Ass”

“Yeah yeah, love you too, Twinkle Toes”


End file.
